A French girl's musings…

Sex

He was wearing a pair of geeky specs, there was a battered book peeking out of his pocket, Baudelaire, no less, Les Fleurs du Mal—in French—a significant detail and the perfect conversation starter…that, and the shared cigarette…so, anyway, in a room full of people, we fucked—with words—we didn’t touch each other, except at the end, when he whispered against my neck…and, well… I don’t have to tell you the rest—I’m pretty sure you can guess.

One does not fully enjoy such a thing without deep analysis and punctuated by brief breaks. The mental and physical exhaustion at the end of such a tome is proof positive that it was properly explored. 😀

Now I am the big headed one! With my wonky glasses, I would sadly ruin the lyricism of the French language with my unpractised pronunciation. Still it is a good spur on which to reacquaint myself and perhaps one day master the language enough to read the greats.

I sat on mine years ago and am just too cheap to get them fixed, that money has been wisely spent on books, including the aforementioned Zola, where I have four waiting to be read…I shall endeavour to get to them soon, then I will be knowledgeable enough to impress you!

What’s brilliant about this is its simplicity and the truth of it. Fucking with words. You just GOT to the point and exposed something people often do and cannot explain. The choice of book is perfect.

Recent Comments

I'm French and I like to write. I'm opinionated, a real bookworm, obsessed with words, interested in Fashion & Style. I don't follow the crowd and I'm drawn towards *unique* people who have things to say. Intelligence is sexy and brains really do it for me.
I'm also a qualified journalist, in possession of the NCTJ diploma from the National Council for the Training of Journalists in the UK.